Friday, 2 December 2011

Friday, 25 November 2011

Fog in November, trees have no heads,Streams only sound, walls suddenly stopHalf-way up hills, the ghost of a man spreadsDung on dead fields for next year's crop.I cannot see my hand before my face,My body does not seem to be my own,The world becomes a far-off, foreign place,People are strangers, houses silent, unknown.

Friday, 18 March 2011

Up rose the wild Winter-King,And shook his beard of snow;"I hear the first young hard-bell ring,T'is time for me to go!North ward o'er the icy rocks,North ward o'er the sea,My daughter comes with sunny locks:This land's too warm for me! "